


South From That Place

by helenagray



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Death, Earth, Exploration, F/F, F/M, Multi, alternative, anais nin, post Endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:41:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenagray/pseuds/helenagray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Post-Endgame. Driven apart by a tragic loss and struggling to adjust to life back on Earth, J and C find their way back to each other. C's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes/Background: Pretend with me that C/7 didn't come out nowhere in season 7. I know, I know...but go with me for a minute here...
> 
> Seven was basically brought back into the "fold" of humanity by Kathryn, and Kathryn's imprint is there, in a lot of Seven's personality. And let's face it - Kathryn loves Seven. Given that, let's say Seven is desirable to Chakotay, not only because of her "obvious attributes", but because she is "of" Kathryn, in some ways. And let's say that he does "fall in love" with Seven. Not that he's stopped loving Kathryn - he hasn't. The heart can be a roomy place...and to my thinking, there's a lot there - between all three of them, really. Maybe this is just what happens to me when I read too much Anaïs Nin - and I'm not sure that I will be going down that kind of road, of if I'm even capable of capturing those themes, but it's an exploration that interests me. Regardless, I am going with a more expansive take on "love" here, if that makes sense.
> 
> The setup is this - They are back on Earth. Seven has died, tragically, and it did not put Chakotay in a grave, but it did produce a horrible, painful, heartbreaking rift between C and J. Regardless of later exploration, this is the story of their "coming back to each other", sharing in the loss of Seven, and finding solace and love, in each other.
> 
> Title inspired by the Mumford & Sons song, "Ghosts that we knew".

* * *

_"The struggle, to emerge out of the past, clean of memories; the inadequacy of our hearts to cut life into separate and final portions; the pain of this constant ambivalence and interrelation of emotions; the hunger for frontiers against which we might learn as upon closed doors before we proceed forward; the struggle against diffusion, new beginnings, against finality in acts without finality or end, in our cursedly repercussive being…"_ ~ Anaïs Nin (Diary Vol. 1: 1931-1934) 

_"Living never wore one out so much as the effort not to live."_ ~ Anaïs Nin 

* * *

  


_**One**_

It rained last night.

I'm still not used to the sound.

It kept me awake - not because it was loud or disruptive to sleep, but because I couldn't stop listening to it. _Thinking about it._

All of the strange, wonderful, and frightening things I encountered over the last many years - the new species, the unfamiliar interstellar phenomenon, the cosmic wonders no other humans have seen, save for our 150 displaced souls - and I am captivated by the simple rain. _Earth's rain._ Molecules billions of years old, composed of elements produced by distant stars, cycling from ocean to land, over and over. An endless refrain, touching all that lives on this planet - all that has ever lived here.

The grass is still wet, and there's a light fog over the city, but it's burning off quickly. The spring sun is shining diffusely through the haze and in an hour or so, it will be clear and bright.

I started my walk when the morning light was new and the thick, moist air cold against my skin. I've come to know this route even though the city still feels foreign.

_They say it will take time._

My walk is a meditation. My movement across the landscape clears my head, brings an equanimity rare these days.

It is a bitter, unapologetic reality that waits (always - _forever_ \- waits, now) at the top of the hill, and my walk prepares me to face it. I guess that's why I go, why I walk. Because it's too easy to forget, to imagine that the absence I feel every day is temporary.

I go to honor her, too, of course. To mourn, and to say goodbye.

I'm still working on the latter.

What's hard is that it's not _goodbye_ to a life lived fully or completely - instead, it is farewell to a thousand things that might have been. That _could_ have been.

The ground is soft beneath my feet, the grass a lush green, glistening in the strengthening sunlight. I'm no longer chilled, and I strip off my jacket, drape it over my arm.

Somehow, the hill I am climbing never feels tough enough - as if I should have to endure something to reach my destination. (As if we did not endure enough already.)

Presidio is waking behind me, the familiar (yet _odd_ ) buildings crisping into view as the fog continues to lift, and I turn briefly to look over the place that has shaped so much in my life - for better or for worse, I cannot discern.

I resume my course, and soon I'm walking near a row of cypress trees. I could map their pattern and spread with my eyes closed, because I'm getting close, and early on this is where I always stopped. _Hesitated._

There's the eucalyptus tree, and the edge of the fence.

_Eight months, to the day._

The well-manicured landscape secludes and softens the meaning of the place, and I am appreciative of whomever it is that tends these grounds. Always orderly, always beautiful - exactly as _she_ was.

Colorful flowers line the walkway, and I stoop to pick a bright purple dahlia.

I pass between the iron posts that mark the entrance to the cemetery, and when I glance over to my destination in the third row, the flower slips from my hand and my body is frozen in place.

Moments later, I'm retreating back behind the gate, and once I feel a safe distance, I breathe again - attempt to collect myself.

It's not that I'm surprised to see her here - and honestly, it's a wonder I haven't run into her before. But I haven't _seen_ her since _that day_ , when we all gathered here, anger and sadness mixing with obligation and duty, and we didn't exactly speak to each other then.

That flash of auburn I glanced, that I'd recognize anywhere, was a shock to my system, and I'm reeling from the turbulent mix of feelings her presence has unearthed.

I've always _planned_ to see her again, but I haven't been able to think about it - haven't been able to _feel_ what seeing her makes me feel, because I just haven't had the room. And now, reunion is literally a few meters away, and I'm shaken to my core as everything rushes in at once.

But I also feel foolish, as I think about it, and the fact that part of me is considering vanishing right back down the hill. I could tell myself it's out of respect - to give her privacy. And sure, that's valid, but the truth of it is that I just don't know if I can face her.

Not all that long ago, she was my best friend and I could hardly fathom a day without her.

I've not truly faced the break of our friendship because I can only cope with so much loss at once. But more than that - I just... _can't_. Maybe it's the "denial" phase of grief, maybe it's guilt, but something in me, through all of this, is unable to let go. And in my mind, when I think of the future, it is hard to imagine she will not someday be there again, in my life.

There is a rocky path between here and there, more difficult to traverse, perhaps, than the Delta Quadrant.

I realize I have a decision to make, and it's frustrating to feel this uncertain of myself, to feel this destabilized.

Then again, Kathryn's always had a way of throwing me off balance.

_Deep breaths._

I will my pulse to slow, and as I breathe in and out, I decide - I'm won't be _that guy._ I'm not going to cower away, when - if I'm being honest with myself - pretty much everything in the universe that matters to me is a just few meters away. The lifeless form beneath the earth, and the grief-stricken woman above her - they were, they are, my heart.

_And she loved us both._

We do her no honor, no kindness, by avoiding each other - and in fact (I am suddenly struck), it is rather selfish of us, considering that we still breathe, still pulse with life - still possess that which was taken from her...

So I walk back into the cemetery, resolved to let fate play out as it will.

Row three, 15 plots down, to the right. It's newer graves I pass as I make my way there - officers, all. Except for the one.

This section's almost full, and while that's not unexpected, given our line of work, it still gets to me, the reality, the finality of it all. And knowing that many of the graves are empty, the bodies having been jettisoned into space in some distant sector, or lost completely in the circumstances of death. The headstones, most of them, are mere markers - tokens of honor for service performed.

Hers is a simple, flat headstone. Marble. I can see from the end of the row that the projection's not activated.

I don't ever turn it on, either. I'm not sure why.

Kathryn is at the grave, kneeling and sitting back on her feet. Her right hand is pressed to the earth, below the headstone - her eyes are closed and she looks lost in some memory. I wonder if by now she's able to recall the good ones, or if images from that fateful day still dominate. If the choices, the twists of fate, still haunt her days and nights.

As I stare at her small, motionless frame from my short distance away, I realize I already know the answer.

I drag my feet a bit, rustling the grass so that I won't startle her. She tilts her head at the sound, and a moment later she opens her eyes and looks right at me.

I halt my approach, and I've too many thoughts and feelings upon catching her gaze to think or feel anything clearly. She's staring at me ( _into_ me), but her eyes are distant at the same time, and it's as if she's trying to decide if I'm real.

_Or if she wants me to be._

I'm a couple of meters away, and I can only wait, watching her face as she considers me.

The wind plays at her hair - it's at least an inch or two longer than when I last saw her, and it reminds me of years long past. Those days feel a lifetime ago.

I realize suddenly that I'm worried - terrified, actually - that she hates me, wants nothing to do with me. Some part of me wishes I'd gone back down the hill, never let her see me, because I don't know if I'm ready to _know..._

She pulls her hand off the ground, places it in her lap, and I see her let out a long breath. She looks back at the headstone for a moment, and I think my fears confirmed until she stands and turns to face me. Her eyes are glassy as they meet mine again, and I almost laugh with elation when she says, simply - "hello."

My relief must be obvious because she presses her lips together in a tight smile - not a _real_ smile, but an acknowledgment, I think, of how difficult this is.

Though my pulse is still wild, and I am almost shaking from the torrent of emotion running through my veins, I assume her greeting and her posture an invitation, and I take the last steps toward her.

"Kathryn... It's good to see you."

She looks at me, her eyes scanning, searching mine. I can't read her and so I'm waiting again, for her to react, to give me some indication that it's really okay that I'm here. I'm not sure if it's seconds or minutes that pass as I stand facing her.

I don't recoil or fall from her gaze, and standing this close distance, breathing her presence, I find very suddenly that I am _open_ \- that I am _here_ , in this moment. That I _am_ ready. Whatever comes next, I know, with all of my being, that I have nothing but love for her. It calms me.

Suddenly I see her lower lip tremble, and a tear slides down her cheek. She turns her gaze down, and I can tell she's trying very hard to steel herself up, to keep it all in, but _this is us._ There's too much here for this moment to be still and unfeeling, and my own eyes are watering as I feel my love for her coursing through my body - the relief of it, the strength of it, fills me.

When she speaks, her voice is not that of the firm, steadfast captain I remember so well - it is the voice of the Kathryn I saw precious few times in our years together. The Kathryn who feels things so deeply, so profoundly, so _thoroughly_ , it breaks my heart in half and pulls my soul from the depths of my body, so desperately does it seek to wrap itself around her.

"I've... missed you."

A weight I didn't realize was so large, and so heavy, lifts from my body at her simple words. I spring forward and embrace her tightly, my tears mixing with hers.

As we hold on to each other, the distance, the angry, hurt feelings, fall away - not for good, I know. That rocky, troubled path is still before us, and there is _much_ to contend with. But right now, all that matters is the whole, real presence in my arms - that she is not completely lost to me.

And that the rocky path - littered with everything that pulled us apart and took what we were - might not be impossible to tread, might not be out-of-reach, anymore...


	2. Chapter 2

The two steaming cups of black in front of me are so  _ordinary_ , so unremarkable, it almost makes me laugh, considering. We sit, unceremoniously, Kathryn and I, at a table in the corner. Chestnut Street - her choice.

We've ordered breakfast, and as we wait, I can't help but to stare at her. And though some part of me is still stuck in disbelief at the unexpected turn this day has taken, I feel a kind of  _calm_  - deep, and solid - as I take her in.

I haven't  _seen_  her in eight months, haven't spoken with her in over a year, and honestly, we drifted apart well before that. I realize now, as I watch her - presence, gestures, so familiar, even after all this time - that I've been missing her, in one way or another, for years.

She glances up from her cup suddenly, looks directly at me, and I catch a flash of humor in her eyes - because she knows I'm trying to read her. Gauge her feelings. It used to be part of my job, but I'm more than a little out of practice these days, and she knows it.

I smile automatically at the spark of recognition that passes between us - and the way it brightens her eyes. But the moment passes quickly, and I watch the levity slip from her face - burdens, loss, resuming their place at the forefront. She turns her gaze to the windows, and I'm not sure if it's my loss or hers weighing more heavily on her mind.

We didn't talk about it much, on the way here.

As we left the cemetery and made our way down the hill, our steps fell into sync easily, the sensation of walking beside her both familiar and not. And although our pace seemed to reflect the way neither of us feels quite at home here - as if the planet's gravity is maybe just a touch too strong - we could not have asked for a more beautiful morning to simply  _walk_ , and I can't remember the last time I felt so happy doing just that.

We traded observations about the landscape - both of us clearly still captivated by the aesthetics of life planetside - and we talked about mutual friends and colleagues. How it's odd, really, that we've not run into each other before now.

I didn't mention how I've gone out of my way to avoid certain places, certain sections of HQ I know she frequents. I'm not really sure how long it would have gone on like that, but I find myself rather grateful now, that fate put an end to my avoidance this morning.

The Marina District in view, we talked about work, and while she was more than happy to listen to me ramble on about my classes, she was decidedly less eager to talk about  _her_  current pursuits. I didn't force it, curious as I am.

I'd already heard, of course, that she's been offered a promotion, and that she's yet to accept.

After the debriefings, after the leave time, she took to a desk at headquarters, and I assumed she'd transition right into the Admiralty. But, even weeks after the official offer, it hasn't happened, and I know her well enough to be certain there's a good reason she's not taken the job.

I've heard a number of popular "theories" around HQ, usually because people have sought me out for confirmation - for inside knowledge they assume I must have. I honestly can't guess at the number of conversations started in my direction that were purely to solicit information about Kathryn Janeway. But even if I  _were_ the sort to oblige the curiosities, I've had nothing to share.  _I've been busy,_ I'd say, when circumstances forced me to engage. (Of course, that paved the way for a whole other kind of "theorizing" - most of which I've tried my damnedest to ignore.)

Since returning to Earth, we've had to contend with our share of celebrity, to say the least - especially early on. Fresh returned from our trek through the Delta Quadrant (for all intents and purposes, back from the dead) with stories to tell, traumas to relate, and knowledge to share, we've been a favorite topic of media and Starfleet personnel alike. Kathryn most of all, followed by Seven. And next on the "list", me, I guess - but more often than not, it hasn't been  _me_  so much as it's been my position relative to  _them_.

I've not tolerated it especially well, and as a result, I've acquired a reputation for being a poor interview subject, so rarely do I offer the details or the sound bites they're after - so infrequently do I give anything but the most cursory response to any questions I'm forced to indulge.

We were "instructed" to be courteous and cooperative with the media. "Watch the classified information," they said, "but give them your presence. You guys are heroes, and that's something we could all use right now."

_Right._

With declining enlistment, waning power in the quadrant, and more than a few public blunders on the books, what they really meant was, we should help give Starfleet a much-needed boost. Be "ambassadors to the public image," to quote Tom Paris. I've not really participated in the whole affair.

To this day, I'm not certain whether they pardoned me because I "demonstrated a firm re-commitment to the cause and values of Starfleet," to use their well-scripted words, or if it was because they wanted me, my story, as  _Voyager's_ First Officer, to boost their image.

It matters very little to me at this point, but it sure pissed me off plenty when we first got back. Don't get me wrong - I was happy to have my "sins" forgiven. And I didn't - don't - mind talking about the scientific aspects of our time in the Delta Quadrant. But the incessant fascination with our personal lives -  _that_  I've no patience for.

I might have done something about it eventually - no idea what; punched a reporter, maybe - but then suddenly, it all fell off my radar, when I found myself faced with the task of burying the woman I loved.

_The other woman I loved._

The thought's in my mind before I can stop it but I'm honestly not sure, anymore, why I'd bother trying.

The heart of it, to a large extent, is that Seven and I came together because we shared, and saw in each other, the same love for the woman neither of us could have. Don't get me wrong - that was not the only driver of our relationship. But, there was a certain solace - a closeness we had - because we found in and with each other a greater understanding of ourselves.

I don't know that Kathryn ever  _really_  knew. Not because she was blind to us, but because I don't think she could really  _allow_  herself to know - to  _see_ , to  _really_   _hold_ the truth of that love and what it meant.

Part it was her position, of course - and that's what she'd tell anyone who asked, why she didn't take up with someone out there.

In reality, there was never any guarantee we'd make it home, and a "violation" of Starfleet protocol in this case would have been completely forgivable. It didn't matter, though - for Kathryn, accepting this particular breach of duty, in some ways, meant she was giving up on getting us home. And, let's face it, sometimes it's just easier - safer - sticking with what you know...not risking your control.

Of course, I can't pretend to know, that she  _would_  have stayed as grounded, as focused, had she compromised on this - and I can see that now, looking back. I can understand - and forgive - her reasons. Why she kept me close, but not  _too_ close.

At the time, particularly in the later years of our journey, I was damn angry about it all. It crept up on me, building as I tried to ignore it, but you can only dance the same dance so many times before it starts to wear you down. I get that now, and I would have handled things better back then, if only I'd found my lucidity sooner.

Instead, I spent a good many hours of my off time in the boxing ring on the holodeck - my hurt feelings, mangled and rotten from stewing too long in my head, boiling over in a left hook, a jab, a low kick. Not accomplishing anything, but back then, it was the only way I could cope.

Time, distance, tragedy...I'm not the same person I was. I'm grateful for the more enlightened perspective - regretful at the cost by which it came. But such is the way of things...

I watch as Kathryn takes a sip of her coffee, and, by all outside appearances, we're just two old friends gathered for breakfast - life, other diners, moving around us in normal time.

Eggs over there, pancakes, coffee, juice...sun streaming in the front windows, lively chatter all around, and the two of us - she alternating, between looking at me and her cup, with occasional glances out the windows, and me, mostly just looking at her - just another part of the scene. You'd never guess, glancing at us, that we've traveled to hell and back several times over. That we spent lonely, isolated years in an unknown and unforgiving part of the galaxy, and that in its wake we found a gaping chasm between us and the lives we used to know - one I'm not sure will ever completely vanish. We're "home", but it's not as simple as that.

 _She looks tired_.

I've noticed her hands rarely leave the table when she talks, and when she smiles, it does not reach her eyes. The  _spark_  that I used to know and love so well, is absent.

I fight back the impulse, to grab her hand, or to reach up and brush the hair back from her face.

 _Old habits._  Sometimes they just come back to you, given the right circumstances.

I don't recognize anyone else here, which is not surprising considering that we're not at all close to headquarters.

It's possible that  _we_  are recognized, of course - it still happens from time to time, often in the oddest of places - but if anyone has noticed us, they either don't care or they are polite enough to leave us alone.

I take a sip of my coffee and decide to take a chance.

"Why haven't you contacted me all this time, Kathryn?"

She's quick to respond, even though she's clearly a bit taken aback by my question. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Fair enough," I say, and then, with more boldness than I'd planned or thought myself capable at this moment - "I really regret the way things went for us, Kathryn. My life's not been the same without you."

She takes in a breath, holds it, and I think I've stunned her with my directness. I take the opportunity to continue, not willing to waste the feeling that's come over me while it still lasts. "I know it started before Seven - before I  _dated_  Seven. I can't really pinpoint it - the moment when things changed for us - and I've spent plenty of time, trying to figure it out. All I know is that it's been too long, Kathryn. I've yet to really make sense of my life here on Earth, and part of that is because you've been completely absent from it."

My words hang in the air for a moment, and then settle around us. She takes a deep breath in and out, and brings her palms to grip around her coffee cup.

"It  _has_  been too long."

Her words strike right at the heart of my fear, and she must recognize that because she holds up her hand, rushes to clarify. "What I mean is, I feel the same way." She pauses, and I can tell that she is gathering her words carefully.

"Chakotay..." her voice is low and soft and although I should be perfectly reassured by what she's already said, my heart races as I wait for her to say more - as if our fate is about to be declared. She shakes her head, presses her lips together before continuing. "It's strange - I  _miss_  the Delta Quadrant. The place we spent seven years trying to flee - I miss it. Do you believe that?"

"I do," I say - though I know she's not really asking for an answer. And she's not done. I fold my hands on the table, remind myself to breathe as she continues.

"But it's not the  _place_ , of course - it's what I had when I was in it. The  _people_..." She looks up at me, and her eyes are warm and sad at the same time. "And,  _you_ , by my side. Ready to tackle whatever that blasted part of the galaxy threw at us next. I miss  _being with you,_ Chakotay."

Relief washes over me, and I grab her hand in both of mine. It's warm from the cup.

She brings her other hand on top of mine, and we sit like that for a while, sharing understanding, and thoughts, in our silence.

I squeeze her hand, and meet her eyes, and what flashes between us is,  _I'm sorry that I hurt you._ And that was really at the heart of it, for both of us.

And then, looking directly at me still, she says, softly, "I miss her."

My throat tightens, and I nod and look down at our hands. I think about the three of us, the paths we have traveled, and how much we have meant to each other. I take a deep breath, and when I look up at her again, I see my own feelings mirrored in her eyes. My next words come easily -

"She would be happy, seeing us here like this."

She nods, squeezes my hands.

We sit like that until our food arrives.

There's more to say (isn't there always), but for now, I think we are both happy to focus on eating.

And we do, until we're about halfway through our meal, when she says suddenly -

"I'm not done. Out there."

I pause mid-bite, and regard her.

"I'm not ready to be permanently desk-bound, here on Earth." She laughs lightly and shakes her head, gestures in the air with her fork. "It's only just now that it's become completely clear to me.  _I'm not done exploring._ It feels so good to say it."

She tilts her head slightly and stares off into the distance, as if considering what "exploring" would mean, what it would be like.

And I smile, because I see in her eyes a hint of that  _spark_  that I remember so well.


	3. Chapter 3

****

It's more than a week before I see Kathryn again. We're both busy, of course - me with my classes, she across the bay, dealing with the internal goings-on of Starfleet.

I'd decided to leave it to her to get in touch with me - though I wouldn't have allowed many more days to pass before I reached out, myself.  _Not this time._

She calls me at the office, and I laugh silently at myself when I see her face on the comm and acknowledge, at my quickened pulse and easy smile, that hers is the call I've been waiting for all week. It's my instinct still, to keep those feelings down - pretend they don't exist, or that they don't matter.

She invites me to dinner at her place, and I happily accept, ask what I can bring. Her response makes me laugh. Reminds me of days long past.

"Just yourself. And, Chakotay," she says with a smile, "don't worry. It'll be takeout."

We hang up, and I feel a little lighter, the rest of my work day.

* * *

It's a little over 5 kilometers to Kathryn's apartment, and I decide to walk - by far my preferred method of transportation in the city.

I knew before today that she lived in Sea Cliff - Tom or someone had made mention of it once or twice in passing conversation. And okay, I looked it up, back when I was busy trying to avoid her.

I'm further inland, in Presidio Heights - closer to the academy, and nearer the Borg regeneration facility a handful of cadets use.  _That Seven had used._

I'd been eager to accommodate her needs - to make sure she felt comfortable on Earth. That we could be comfortable, together. She'd been away much longer than I had, and hardly viewed the planet as home. I'd made it my mission to change that.

She missed  _Voyager_  even more than I did, back in those early days.

It was only later on that I understood it more completely - saw and felt what was beyond the simple fact that  _Voyager_  was the only real home she'd known, Borg collectives aside. I think I loved her even more, when I realized the landscapes of our hearts were so similar. That we shared in a deeply-seeded and unbreakable love for a woman beyond our reach. There was a kind of solace in the recognition of what we shared, even if it meant what was between us, our relationship, would always be lacking. Always missing the very deepest, most soul-shaking feelings that come when you are with  _that one person_  you desire more than anything.

That's not to say you can't find fulfillment with someone else, and, indeed, as you get older, you learn how to have and hold your feelings - all of them - in a way that doesn't prevent your living life. You figure out how to take the joy where you can find it. I learned long ago how to exist with my feelings for Kathryn — to  _be_  with that truth, to accept it, regardless of where I am. It's just  _a part of me_.

I remember thinking at one point with Seven -  _I could be happy like this;_  we could have a kind of happiness together. And we did, for a time.

I don't know if she truly felt the same way, but she tried. She loved as much as she could, in the ways she was capable. (That's all we can  _ever_  really do, right?)

I think it could have been enough for me.  _Maybe._

I'd had many years of living with my love for Kathryn, and it didn't eat away at me like it used to. But Seven...even if the fates had spared her those months ago, I don't think we would have continued much beyond her return. She was young, and not yet ready (or able) to put her wildest, deepest dreams to rest.

_"We'll talk. When you get back."_

I'd long sensed a restlessness in her, and it was no surprise when she agreed to go on the short-range mission. They needed her Borg expertise, and she jumped at the chance to go into space again.

At the time, I thought -  _I can live with regular deployments. If this is what she wants, we'll work it out._

Looking back, I was naïve to imagine her hopes and dreams could ever be contained. That I would be enough to keep her still.

When she left on that mission, I still had some hope for our relationship, but the seed of doubt was there, growing, in my gut. Somehow I knew, in a part of me I couldn't acknowledge, that she had, in a sense, gotten what she could from me. That she needed still, to be free. And that maybe she  _always_  would.

_"I love you."_

I held on to those, her last words to me, for so long, playing them over and over in my head - her tone, her voice, echoing from the grave.

She'd meant it, but it wasn't as simple as that. In her voice, there was also "goodbye" - more than just because of the mission. And there was "thank you" - for helping her grow, for loving her, for not protesting when she told me she intended to take the assignment. I didn't fully understand, and I didn't dwell on it then, because I imagined we would sort it out, when she got back. But there are some things you just know, deep down, long before they reach your active mind - long before you have the words to describe, admit, or explain them.

And then, of course, she didn't come back.

I shake myself free from my thoughts abruptly, not wanting to be drawn further down into melancholy before my evening at Kathryn's, and I refocus my mind on the present.

Mountain Lake glistens in the early evening sun, shadows growing longer and darker, as I walk the trails to the west.

By the time I am back out on city streets, I'm regretting my empty hands. There are a number of shops along Old Lake Street, and I resolve to find  _something_  to bring to Kathryn's.

I pass up the art galleries, not knowing what would fit her decor. I consider dessert as I pass a bakery, or flowers as I spot a gift shop with a sidewalk display a couple of shops down, but ultimately the simplicity and neutrality of a bottle of wine wins out. I choose a Burgundy at  _Mercato del Vino,_ a block down, on California Street. I'm nothing even remotely close to a wine expert, but I've never met a Burgundy I've not liked, so it feels like a safe choice.

Wine in hand, I continue my walk to Sea Cliff, and after another ten minutes or so, I can smell the ocean.

It doesn't surprise me that Kathryn settled on the coast, and as the cool, fresh breeze continues to fill my lungs, I'm a bit envious of her choice.

Soon I hear the ocean waves, faint and rhythmic - the vast Pacific pushing up against the rocky California coast - and I regret that I've not spent more time at the shore.

And then I remember — it's not too late, to remedy that mistake.

When I finally spot Kathryn's place, I'm briefly stunned when I see that it's near the very land's end, directly overlooking the ocean.

I knew her place was on the part of the street that turned parallel to the ocean, having located her residence on a map, but now - seeing it in person - I  _really_  know it. My mind is racing suddenly, as I think of her, and that view, and the fact that I'm about to take in both. That my coming here stands to mark the beginning of the end of the rift that's filled the space between us these past many years.

I take in a deep breath of the salty sea air, visualize the waves in an attempt to will calm over body, but my pulse refuses to relent. I'm nervous, thrilled, and terrified to see my friend, and I can't help but to feel that what happens next will shape the future in ways I can't yet imagine — can't allow myself to fathom, for fear it will all be swept up with the breeze; the frail, tentative essence of hopes I dare not have.  _Not yet._

As I take the last steps to Kathryn's front door, I try again - remind myself  _it's just dinner. Like_ w _e've done it a hundred times before._ And I feel a bit calmer at that, but then I ring the bell and all bets are off when she opens the door and I see the smooth, blue-green Pacific through large glass windows behind her, and, more immediately, that her dress is near the same shade. It's long and flowing in places, and tenderly close to skin in others — the cerulean sapphire against her sun-kissed porcelain envelops my senses without effort.

I hold out the wine a bit dumbly, gesture to the house and make a half-hearted remark about how well Starfleet keeps its best and brightest, and she laughs. Stands aside to let me in.

I follow her into the living area, and now that I have a clearer view, I see that the glass windows are more of a glass  _wall_ , with a wide, uninterrupted floor-to-ceiling view of the sea. Breathtaking.

I stare until her voice draws me away.

"I'm so glad you're here." She smiles warmly, then holds up the bottle. "I've already opened some, so if it's okay with you, we'll save this for next time?"

"Of course."

 _Next time_.

I realize I'm searching for signs of her intentions - her thoughts and feelings - and with a slow intake of breath, I tell myself instead to  _be in the moment_. To live what's right here in front of me, instead of anticipating or analyzing too much.

In  _this moment,_  I am, in fact, profoundly grateful. I return to her previous words, before the talk of wine.

"I'm glad to be here, too — glad I ran into you the other day." I take a step towards her, relax my arms at my sides. "I've really missed you, Kathryn."  _(This past week, these past years — my whole life, really…)_

I worry that I'm being a bit too maudlin, but then she smiles sadly, steps close to me and puts her free hand on my arm, and I can tell she understands. Time lost, years wasted, flash through my mind, but, with a breath in, her warmth invading my senses as the air fills my lungs, I let it slide away. A breath out, and I meet her eyes — here, really here, nothing wasted, nothing lost.

Her eyes are luminous as they hold mine, and a wordless, profound understanding passes between us. I realize with some satisfaction that I've come a long way from the person I was when I first met her. That younger man wouldn't have been able to hold the room with her right now — would have paled, retreated — overwhelmed and unworthy. I don't know how to explain what it is about her that is so  _intense_ like that, and why it is that I can stand alongside of it now (even as my pulse races) without cowering or looking away _._  Maybe it's age, maybe it's how long I've loved her, maybe it's everything we've been through — I don't know.

I smile at her, shaking my head slightly, because while so much has changed, her radiance and the way it makes my heart swell, has not. I pull her into an embrace — firm but brief; friendly and without expectation. The burgundy is at my back as she returns the sentiment, wrapping her arms around me, and when we part, she smiles and her face seems brighter.

"Let's get you a drink," she says, the mood distinctly lightened, but also  _just a little bit_  charged, and I can't help but to notice the way her body moves in  _that dress_  as she leads me to the kitchen.

Elegant, deep purple tile is the standout in this space — it's distinctly Mediterranean in style. She reaches for her glass on the center island - nearly empty. She refills it with something dark and red, then fills another and offers it to me.

"Cab - pretty good."

She smiles as I accept it, and then proceeds to bound about the kitchen energetically, pulling out a couple of plates and shuffling things around on the counter.

"Dinner will be here soon. Some snacks for now." She tilts her head toward the plates, one she's filling with cheese, the other some kind of bread and crackers.

I compliment her on the house, ask how she came upon it, and how long she's lived here, and she happily relays the details, her speech animated, as she continues readying the appetizers. I listen, watching her as she moves and gestures, and I smile to myself at how she is still so many shades of the Kathryn I once knew so well.

Apparently satisfied after some final shuffling, she grabs one of the plates and her glass of wine, gestures for me to grab the other, and leads us back into the living area. I follow her example and put my appetizer plate on the coffee table and settle down onto the elegant (yet utilitarian - perfectly her style) couch.

She reaches for some cheese and we share an extended silence, both gazing westward, as the captivating view invites us to do.

The sun is sinking, and the ocean is ablaze as long, low rays of light cascade across the water. Near the shore the fiery hues of orange and yellow shimmer and dance with the waves, and above the sea, shades all across the spectrum light the sky — last caresses of daylight, slowly surrendering to the night.

I hazard a glance at her, and am surprised to find her gazing out with the same kind of contemplative awe I'm sure is plastered all over my face right now. Noticing, and without turning, she says - "it never gets old."

"It's a nice planet," I say - lame words, but I mean them earnestly.

I catch her nodding, out of the corner of my eye. "I'm glad to call it home again. Amazed, still, sometimes, that we made it..." Her voice trails off, and we both stare at the sea.

I think of the many "oceans" we crossed to get here, and the often-stormy waters that nearly did us in, on several occasions. And I think of how we endured — how  _she_  endured, despite everything.

After a long moment, she turns to face me, and, suddenly animated, she says - "I want to show you what I've been up to. And I need your input." She smiles as if she's about to reveal a secret she can hardly wait to spill.

I watch, curious, as she reaches over to the side table, grabs a stack of PADDs and pulls them over onto her lap. She shuffles through the devices, raises one up to study it more closely, then hands it to me with a subtle, yet expectant smile. My eyes linger on hers, amused, before I look down at the display.

The words "Rusarkis" and "Zhargosia" jump out at me right away. I look more closely, and then zoom in on the image. There are notes — her notes, clearly — at different points.  _At star systems and planets,_  I realize.

I click on one and text pops up — it's a list of several headings that lead to more text. Things like: existing data, historical exploration, and scientific goals by category. Also what appears to be something of a timetable and a list of required resources. I zoom out again. It's map, of course. And not just any map.

"You're developing the specs for a long-range science mission," I say, eyeing her, my expression as close to neutral as I can make it. I need the rest of her "secret" before I can solidify my opinion — although her expression and mannerisms say quite a bit.

She nods. "I've got good outlines for research in astrophysics, cosmology, planetary geology, xenobiology, and…" Her voice trails off and she glances out the window for a moment before looking back at me. "Archeology."

"Sounds fascinating," I say, not biting.

Her eyes narrow a bit. "I'm going to present it to the research council in two weeks."

"And you need some help with the archeology outline?"

"I do."

I stare down at the PADD for a moment, then back at her. "Sounds like fun. I will certainly do what I can."

She folds her arms across her chest, and I'm not sure I've ever adored her more. "Once the research council approves of the plan, I'll take it to the admiralty."

"I'm sure it'll make one hell of a Starfleet mission. It'll be a lucky crew that gets to take it on." By this point I've perfected my neutral, emotionless expression, and I betray nothing.

She looks at me through narrowed eyes, and I almost falter.

I reach for some cheese and a cracker, eat at them like everything's normal, hoping that my bluff pays off. That I'm reading her correctly and not contaminating my perceptions with my own wishful thinking…

She sighs slightly — well, it might be more of a huff, actually — and stares out at the ocean. The last light of the day is quickly fading.

Her gaze is fixed westward when she says, her voice low — "Will you come with me?"

I don't say anything right away, so after a moment she looks over at me, her eyes questioning. I feel an odd, rather foreign warmth permeating my body that I vaguely recognize as happiness of some form or another.  _It's been a while..._

My expression frees, and I see her features relax into relief. "First Officer?"

She shrugs slightly, and it's clear she has another idea. "Maybe. Or — how about Chief Science Officer and Chair of Archeology Research?"

My smile broadens, but I have to ask — "What makes you think Starfleet will go for that kind of arrangement?"

She smiles slyly, tilts her head to one side, and her tone takes me back to our  _Voyager_ days — "I can be pretty persuasive."

I laugh and reach for her hand.

"Truer words may never have been spoken," I tease. A moment, and then, more seriously - and rather easily, I might add — "I'm in. If you can pull this off, Kathryn, I would love to go into space with you again. By choice, this time." We share a laugh at that last bit.

It's nearly dark outside now. Lights from ships and other maritime interests are speckles of light on the water, and above them, Venus shines brightly, along with a few of the lower-magnitude stars. I slide over next to her, wrap my arm around her shoulders. She relaxes against me, and we sit like that for a while, watching as night fully engulfs the day. Silent but incredibly content.

It's dark outside, but the path opening up before me now is lit up like a beacon. The future, whatever it may hold, we will take on together.


	4. Chapter 4

Over the next two weeks, Kathryn and I meet regularly to work on the mission.

It's fascinating work, and every time we get together to hammer out the details, I find myself feeling more energized and more excited about going back into space.

After spending a not-insignificant chunk of my life stranded out there, you'd think I'd feel otherwise. But there's something about the prospect of exploring on our own terms — building a real mission, and really thinking about our scientific and research aspirations.

It's common ground that Kathryn and I share in very strongly, and it's like I'm rediscovering a part of myself as we think and plan and build together.

She smiles more easily now, laughs more frequently, and it's safe to say, she's finding her footing again — her drive.

And, it feels right — sharing in the intellectual challenges, the science; sharing our hopes and ambitions. 

The other day, my teaching assistant remarked that I seem to be walking on air, lighter and happier than she's ever known me.

It's true, and it's impossible to hide — I feel alive in a way I've not felt since well before getting home. 

At the same time, I must admit, part of me is afraid to feel like this — to be happy — because I know all to well that it can fall apart at any moment. That life is fragile, and brief. But if there ever was a reason to embrace happiness when it presents itself, that would be it.

One day at a time.

Kathryn and I have spent most of our working hours at her place, and a few at her favorite coffee shop nearby, but yesterday she suggested we go to my place for a change of scenery.

I was nervous about having her there.

A lot of it was because of Seven, and the way her imprint is still visible in my home — especially to someone like Kathryn. I didn't want to open up old wounds, or risk souring the friendship we'd so recently reestablished. 

What I didn't expect as I worried over these things, was that a few hours in my home would actually help us move forward — that it would give us an opening to navigate the difficult feelings that still haunted the spaces of our silent moments — that still echoed in the gaps between our words, our glances.

Standing in my apartment now, the day after Kathryn's visit, I think about the way she explored my living space. Tentative at first — so unlike her in most circumstances — and then with purpose, as if she needed to do it. Had to do it.

"I never really faced it — the two of you together." 

A particular kind of silence filled my home after she spoke, and as I stand now in nearly the same spot I was yesterday evening when we began to talk — really talk — about her feelings, I remember how my heart pounded against my chest as I waited for her to say more, uncertain if we were moving forward, or back.

"I felt so…angry. And…so left out."

It was news to me when she said it. Not so much the "angry" part — though she did a damn good job of hiding it most of the time in our later Voyager days, conveying instead a detached indifference I allowed myself to fall for — but the idea that she'd felt… _left out_. I'd not really considered it before.

It made sense, though. And while Freud would no-doubt have a good time with the various relationships and feelings among the members our particular triangle, I can see now that, beneath everything, she felt abandoned — by both of us.

The most ironic (and deeply sad) part of it all is that abandoning her was the last thing either Seven or I wanted. In fact, it was quite the opposite of what was in our hearts.

We were — both of us — in love with the very person who thought we'd left her.

I shake my head as I think about this, and all the things we never say, in general. How too much of life passes by with words unspoken, too much time slipping away as we hide who we are and what we desire.

I grab the small marble figure from one of my shelves and hold in my hand, just as Kathryn had done. I think about the woman to whom it belonged, how Kathryn had made that connection instantly, and I think about where we are now.

I'd almost kissed her last night, right in this spot — not too long after her revelation — so strong was my desire to comfort her and ease the hurt feelings she had shared. But I didn't want to attach our "something new" — whatever it may turn out to be — to something old and desperately in need of being put to rest.

More than that, though, I recognized that she needed to tell me, not to receive some kind of apology, but to fully own her feelings. To air them, in the light of day, where their character would be fully visible, unmasked.

It's what makes healing truly possible, and it was a relief then, and now — knowing we are on that road.

As for the nature of our relationship, there is an air about us that makes it feel almost inevitable, that we're not just fixing to share our working lives, but to share our lives, period. It means something in particular to me, and I only hope it carries the same significance for her.

I take nothing for granted, of course, having been down a road like this with her before. But a lot has changed, and more than ever, it feels like our timing might finally be in alignment.

It's not lost on me that we're looking to go into space again — that we'll be serving on the same ship, and I as her subordinate, a configuration historically given to necessitating a certain distance in our relationship. But life is different now, and it's my sense that neither of us is willing to make that kind of sacrifice again. After all, we're not getting any younger, and let's face it — life is too damn short to spend our days merely dancing among the possibilities, flirting with happiness and never quite getting down to it.

Still, I've not worked up to asking her directly, what the nature of our relationship can (or cannot) be if we ship out again. And although I think the particular charge between us these days could power a small city, I've not asked her to define it, or us, or to tell me what should come next. Mostly, I'm just taking it a day at a time, and I figure we'll get to that point, when we're ready to lay things out, eventually — one way or another.

* * *

The night before her presentation to the council, I show up at her house in time to cook dinner. She's frantically reviewing the proposal when I arrive, and I can tell by her tousled hair and lack of makeup that she's been working non-stop since she woke up.

"Busy day?" I tease as I hang my jacket in the usual spot.

With a hand on her head, she sighs, and then dives right in, her words coming a mile a minute. "We're almost there. I've added to the Myzran sections, and the studies at Myzralon — I think I mentioned that the other day? Oh, and there's the Moab region and the Plexar nebula that we talked about — I got that all in there. And I broadened the xenobiological scope for that region, in general. Oh! And out beyond Zhargosia, I think we need to devote some time to the ruins on Loren 5. And I added another researcher to the biology department, because with all the changes we've made, we're going to need extra personnel. And I've —"

Maybe it's the hair. 

Maybe it's the day.

Maybe I'm crazy.

Maybe it's everything at once, but when I close the space between us and kiss her, abruptly silencing her speech, I know that, most of all, it's because _I love her so damn much._

She's stiff at first, but after a moment, when the shock wears off, she presses against me with purpose and claims our kiss with her own desire unleashed, letting go in the way I have always imagined she would — that I have longed for from almost the first day I met her.

I pull away for a moment and stare fully into her eyes. The intensity there, the openness, takes my breath away. It's new — so new — and an overwhelming elation washes over me as I register the permission granted — parameters erased, obstacles cleared.

This is what we both want.

Words are not needed as the years, the emotions, the strength and depth of our history, coalesce against the fire that's always been between us, but my heart aches to tell her the one, most ultimate truth that connects all of our years, good and bad —

"I've never stopped loving you."

She breaks from my gaze for moment, glancing out to the sea, and when she looks back at me, her eyes are warm — full of hope and love, desire, and everything I've longed to see written there. If there is one moment I will hold in my heart forever, this is it.

She answers my declaration — my confession, in a way — not with words, but by capturing me in another kiss.

Then she pushes us toward the couch, and I can feel her heat against me, the depth of her hunger crashing into me like waves to the shore.

I've not wanted anything more.

Part of me longs to draw this moment out forever, but I ache to take her completely, body and soul, so long have I wanted this; exactly this. 

It is a battle between those instincts as she pulls at the buttons on my shirt, but the urgency of our desire wins out. I do nothing to slow the quick work she makes of my clothes and her own, and we are intertwined on her sofa before I know it.

I am simultaneously shattered to a million pieces, and more whole than I've ever been before.


	5. Chapter 5

The late-day sun casts a warm glow on the shore, and us, as we sit on the patio, wrapped together in the chenille blanket that's usually draped over the back of Kathryn's sofa.

It was her suggestion — to sit outside — and while she'd indicated that her patio is "more or less" private, I was surprised and rather amused when she'd bounded out onto the generous outdoor space without recovering a single article of clothing.

The blanket was my idea, and while it is warmer than usual this evening, I am glad for the way it shelters us from the breeze.

The soundscape is dominated by the ocean, with its rhythmic oscillations, and I find myself breathing with the waves — my inhales bringing them forward, my slow exhales matching their retreat.

Her flesh is warm against mine, tension blissfully evaporated from her body, and she seems unconcerned as my hand holding the blanket slips a bit, exposing a fair portion of her shapely upper half. I adjust and pull the cover back up, securing my arms around her, and she snuggles into my chest, auburn locks soft beneath my chin. Her breath draws in sync with mine and the waves, and we sit like that, wrapped together; just us and the sea.

We can't linger, with the work that remains, but I'll be damned if after all this time we don't deserve this quiet moment, awash in the warmth of our coalescence — all that we are wrapped in the cocoon of our blanket, and all of our hopes spread from sea to sky, for just a little while. There is work we must do, and there are conversations we must have, but for now — for just this one slice of time — we simply exist, nothing more or less than we are.

I'm starting to think maybe I will never move when she breaks our silence, shifting against me with a sigh.

I loosen my arms and she turns, plants a kiss on my cheek, and then stands, letting the blanket fall. She stretches, arms up and back, the front of her fully splayed in the direction of the sea. My gaze traces the graceful arc of her backside, and I watch, amused and more than a little aroused, as she turns to face me, unabashedly flaunting the other side of her quite luscious anatomy. Her smile is playful as she observes my reaction, but duty calls.

"I've got to get back to it," she says, gesturing to the door.

I nod, but remain seated. "I'll join you in a minute. Get dinner going."

She brushes a hand against my face, her eyes bright with affection, before heading back into the house.

I listen to the waves again, take a deep breath of the salty sea air, and marvel more than a little bit at the fact that I'm here...


	6. Chapter 6

Kathryn is seated at the kitchen table with her work spread out in a chaotic (yet somehow organized) fashion, and I am preparing dinner — eggplant parm, mixed greens.

The Burgundy from our first dinner is on the counter, and she smiles up from a PADD as she sees me pick it up.

"We keep forgetting," she says, gesturing at the bottle. "Open it?"

I oblige, and when I deliver her a glass, she looks up at me, a playful lustiness in her eyes — at delightful ease now, no longer forbidden — and I feel a fiery warmth in my core, knowing that her desire is for me. The corners of her lips rise as she observes me reading her, and she laughs.

"You will be my undoing," she teases, but I must betray the way my stomach reflexively tightens at those words in particular because she quickly adds, "in a  _good_  way…only in the good ways."

_Some feelings and habits will have to be unlearned,_ I think, as she reassures me.

She picks up the glass then, inhales deeply, and draws the deep scarlet liquid to her lips. She savors it, tasting it fully.

Not without difficulty, I turn my attention back to dinner, but I can't resist an occasional glance in Kathryn's direction, as she tends the proposal, or sips her wine. I laugh to myself as I wonder how it is that I managed to keep myself from her on  _Voyager_.

Well, let's be honest — it was permission that I lacked then, not desire. With a sturdy barrier in place, I didn't —couldn't — let myself feel what I feel now.

_Which is…_

Freedom.

It sounds odd, but that's what it is.  _Freedom_  — to feel and love and choose. No barriers…at least not of the kind that we deliberately put into place.

I flip the slices of eggplant and ready a couple more for the pan. The dish is nearly full — layers of the eggplant and cheese, covered with the sauce — and almost ready for the oven.

And me — Kathryn's over there, putting the finishing touches on what may very well be the next several years of our lives. Am I ready?

Objectively, it's a great opportunity.

I could be happy teaching, long-term, on Earth.  _Probably._  But the chance to  _explore_  — to truly embark on a mission of scientific discovery — speaks to a deeper part of me. It's one of the reasons I joined Starfleet, and it's a part of me that remains unfulfilled. The Cardassians got in the way of my plans, changed everything for me, and then I got stuck in the Delta Quadrant...

The bottom line is, I  _long_  to explore. It's not  _just_  that I want to go where she goes.

(But, so what if it were?)

Later, as we're finishing dinner, Kathryn declares that the proposal is as ready as it will ever be. I'm surprised — I expected she'd go right back to it after we ate, worrying over the finer details until the last possible minute (she did keep a PADD at the dinner table, after all, to go over a few things). Instead, she lets out a long breath, and I can tell by her expression that she is genuinely satisfied with what she's assembled. What we've assembled.

"Do you need anything more from me?" I ask, earnestly, but I catch a glimmer in her eyes — then business.

"Are you really in this?"

"Absolutely." There's no hesitation in my voice, and I feel none. It's my honest answer.

She smiles, grabs her wineglass. "That's all I need, then."

I return the smile, and rise to clear our plates. She refills her glass, and mine, and when I've everything else away, I see that she's turned in her chair, legs crossed, and she's eyeing me. Her left hand is against her cheek, fingers covering her lips and what I know must be a mischievous grin (her eyes betray her). She shifts and tilts in a way that sends her hair sliding over her shoulder, takes a sip of her wine, and l make my way back to the table. But not to sit.

She laughs as I draw her up out of the chair and into my arms.

Tomorrow, Starfleet may determine the  _where_  of our future, but most certainly not the  _what._ That is ours to write.

* * *

I'm in the middle of discussing the ruins on Calder II — and I think I still have their attention, even though for most of them, this is the last class of the week, with a holiday weekend ahead; not the best recipe for deft focus — when, out of the corner of my eye, I see Kathryn slip in to the back of the room. She takes the seat in the top left corner, and I pause mid-sentence, glance down at the podium to hide my smile. My students have not taken notice of our "visitor" — most of them would recognize her if they had cause to turn around — and so I make it a point not to look her way, unsure whether or not she'd appreciate the attention. I  _could_  invite her down to say a few words — I know the students would be delighted to hear from her — but we've only about 10 minutes left and something tells me I'd encounter some fashion of wrath if I were to call upon her for a spontaneous guest lecture.

I continue my lesson, trying my best to ignore my newest pupil. I can't help but to notice how she's sitting back there, though — elbows on the table, chin resting on raised, folded hands, most definitely regarding me with knowing and amused ardor, those large and attentive eyes staring  _right_  at me, practically glowing from the back of the room. I swear I can feel her warmth from here, and the more I continue to talk, the harder it is to ignore.

I'm trying to explain the results of the last excavation, and she's tilted her head to one side, her hair falling across her shoulder...a _nd tell me she isn't ever-so-casually running a finger back and forth along her lower lip..._

Almost a mirror image of how she was sitting last night at the dinner table, the smooth, voluptuous glass of red in front of her, the dark liquid flickering in candlelight — and oh, how she tasted of that Burgundy...

_Damn it all!_

I'll have to remember to thank her, for forcing me confined to the podium and rendering me completely dumb as to the overall point I'm trying to make here, in this, my last lecture of the week.

_Oh, and she knows it, too..._

I look down at my notes, trying to get a grip, and somehow I manage to bring the lecture to a close — one not  _completely_  ridiculous or off-track, amazingly enough. I'm ending a few minutes early, but I hear no protests from the students, eager as they all must be to start the weekend.

I wish them a good holiday as I dismiss them, then busy myself fussing over my papers piled on the lectern as the cadets gather their things and begin to file for the exit at the front of the room. Several nod in my direction as they leave; some say "thank you", or express return wishes for a good holiday, all seeming oblivious that I'd been thrown off my game more than a little bit, toward the end of the lecture. And since they're going the other way, they're not noticing Kathryn - I'm wondering if I should have introduced her, after all. (It would have kept her from sitting there undressing us with her thoughts, at least.)

Cadet Jennings lingers, approaches me with a question, and I can  _feel_  Kathryn's amused stare as we converse. Lainey Jennings is one of my best students, and we often linger well after class to discuss things in more depth, or to take theories in a new direction, but it hasn't been until  _this moment_ that it's really, fully registered, what a beautiful young woman she is. And how she's standing just  _a little_ too close to the podium — how her eyes are full and dark as she looks at me, and —  _shit_. I can already hear Kathryn's teasing...

I'm half-present for the chat with Lainey, and perhaps sensing this, she doesn't stick around for very long. I feel bad for a moment, and then shrug it off, knowing that we'll no-doubt pick it up again next week. Besides, she didn't seem phased by my... _distractedness._

Kathryn makes her way to the font of the room just as Lainey's ponytail bounces through the exit. Her smile is full and wide and I can only imagine that, in addition to having been entertained by turning me on from the back of the room while I attempted to lecture 60 top-notch Starfleet cadets, her presentation went well today.

She is fully,  _completely_  aware of the power she has over me, and,  _Gods, I love her like this..._

Unfortunately, we're at work, and so I'm left to simply sit — or stand, rather — with my nagging desire to take her, hard, fast, and  _now_ , on the frontmost lecture desk...

_Oh, just wait..._

"Didn't mean to disrupt your lecture," she says as she closes in to the podium.

_"Riiight,"_  I say, eyeing her, my thoughts no-doubt clear as glass to the woman who knows me better than anyone ever has.

She pats my arm, much in the fashion she always used to, back on  _Voyager._ But her eyes tell a different story — a newer story — which sends a swell of warmth up my body. " _Until later_ " is written on her face — a simple and very basic notion that gets at what is just the beginning, the opening, of a whole new world for us.

I smile, captivated, but then my curiosity and anxiousness get the better of me. "What's the news?" I ask, having already judged that the news was good, but realizing that could mean any number of things.

She smiles broadly and says simply, "proposal approved...without revision."

Workplace be damned, I move from the podium and sweep her up in an embrace.

"All of it? Really?" I return her to the floor and take both of her hands in mine.

She nods. "There are a few details to work out, but yes. Science vessel. Science mission." She hesitates for moment, eyes glancing downward for a brief second before returning to mine. "And the research position is yours...if you want it."

I shake my head at the question — that it would even be a question at this point. She's not an insecure woman, but there is a certain vulnerability that intimacy brings. The kind that can shake you deep in your core, because it's moments like this, when life tends to shift in major ways. When the decisions, easy or not, shape the landscape for as far as you can see.

"I told you, I'm in all the way," I say, pulling her in again. Then, my face in her hair, I reiterate my desire. "You couldn't keep me planetside if you tried, Kathryn Janeway."

She lets out a breath as she hugs me, and I feel her body relax.

We release each other, and I gather my things.

"We have to celebrate, Kathryn." I throw everything into my bag and we make for the exit. "Let's go away," I suggest suddenly, unable to contain my enthusiasm.

She slides an arm around me before we enter the hallway, stands on her toes and leans close to my ear. "Name the place," she says in a low voice, before pulling away.

"Anywhere. Absolutely anywhere."

She smiles at my meaning, but I can tell she wants a real answer. Wants me to decide.  _My idea and all._

We make our way down the hall, and exit to the outdoors, my mind spinning the possibilities.  _A weekend away…_

I stop on the sidewalk a short distance from the building, and turn to face her. Viewed from a distance, it's just a calm, professional conversation we're having.

"Pack for warmth. And sun. And sand."

"I like the sound of that," she says, smiling again —  _happy._

_I could live inside that glow._

"Tonight. Let's go tonight."

"Let's go tonight," she echoes, nodding.

And so we do...


End file.
